In Medias Res (middle, medium but never mildly)
by The Readers Muse
Summary: Curse Mary and her abominable temper!


**Disclaimer:** I don't own "Downton Abby." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Well, it's been more than a year and my brain finally said, 'hey, you know that random fic we wrote a thousand years ago? Sequel time!' - Sir Anthony is a newly awakened Sentinel: (a person with enhanced senses) And Edith is his newly discovered Guide: (a person that helps a Sentinel control their gifts and keep them from 'zoning' or hyper-focusing on one sense and thus vulnerable.) The connection or bond between a Sentinel and Guide is a soul deep and almost spiritual thing that is generally considered pre-destined. Much like the soul-bond/one-love trope. *In this version Sentinels don't come online until they meet their Guide, the person best suited to help them balance these abilities – essentially the other half of their soul. Neither Sentinel nor Guide can come online until they are at least twenty years of age. So, essentially, when Sir Anthony visits Downton in 1x05, this is the first time an encounter would have resulted in them being matched as Edith is at least twenty years old in 1912.

 **Disclaimer:** Sequel to "Preconceptions (preconceived, prejudice or just plain puzzled)" & "Resolutions (received, rational and rather rapturous)" – This piece is from Edith's point of view directly following their wedding. So, technically, it fits between chapter two and three of "Resolutions (received, rational and rather rapturous)." Contains: period appropriate behavior/language/thoughts/actions/etc, animal traits/behaviors, romantic intimacy and sensuality.

 **In Medias Res (middle, medium but never mildly)**

"Truthfully, I'm not sure what to think. Part of me still believes the world must be playing some sort of cruel joke on us all. Though I know that is not the case, it has been confirmed. Father had a specialist travel down from Bath. They've been registered. And now, it would seem, quite married. I find I quite don't have the words…other than it's a match that would certainly be _loathsome_ to be forced into. I mean honestly, the man is-"

"Come now, Mary. That's hardly fair," Cousin Matthew protested, frowning. "You and I were there after all. We watched it happen. It was a singular experience. Witnessing two people come together in such a way. To find their purpose - _together_. They seem well matched in my eyes, certainly. There's no need to be sore, if-"

Her lips pulled tight in a forced smile as a waspish blip of his sister's conversation reached her from the head table. Knowing with a wash of anger that if she could hear it, Sir Anthony certainly could as well. She turned to him, talking to Doctor Clarkson and papa near the refreshments. Sensing just what she expected from him - soberness, discomfort and the light melancholy of expression that one gets when their secret fears are mirrored aloud by others.

Her gloved hands clenched into tight fists as she refrained from stalking over to her elder sister and saying a rash of things she'd likely regret if anyone were to overhear. Struggling between wanting justice and not wanting to cause her Sentinel anymore distress as she rose firmly to her feet.

She would listen to no more of this foolishness.  
 _  
_ _Curse Mary and her abominable temper!_

* * *

Their wedding celebration had been tastefully lavish. Briefly planned but still as thoughtful and grand as she'd imagined as a girl. But it was the dinner afterwards where the true talents of their staff were brought to a stunning, burnished shine. They were to leave in the morning for some time abroad and it seemed as though no expense had been spared to send them off.

And while she appreciated the gesture, part of her couldn't help but count down the hours until she had him to herself again. Away from the prying, curious eyes of their guests - and more importantly, separated from Mary's rancor and sharp tongue. Word had spread quickly of their arrangement and suddenly they seemed absolutely _besieged_ with invitations and visits from social acquaintances and long-lost friends, all hoping to dine with them.

Sir Anthony was putting on a brave face and forging through it, to be sure. But she could sense the strain that was beginning to show under the surface. It was almost invisible to everyone else, but highlighted starkly through their bond. Knowing he need to get away just as much as she did. His Sentinel side was almost raw - overwhelmed with stimulus and conflicting instincts that the gentleman in him was at loathe to allow free.

It would take time to learn the balance.

Something that went for her as well.

Right now she was distracted by his needs.

But soon, she too would have face the breadth of her new senses.

Both their strengths and their limitations.

She stuck to his side throughout the night, particularly after Mary's tasteless comments. Expressing her opinion on the matter by extreme example. Using her new gifts to the fullest extent she was capable of until his discomfort eased and he held her hand tenderly. Ignoring the hooded stares of almost everyone in attendance. Deciding that perhaps it was jealousy rearing its knobbly head when they whispered how unusual it was for a newly wedded couple to be so comfortable with one another.

She couldn't bring herself to care a whit.

Finding herself almost dizzy on this gorgeous, thrilling hum of intimacy they shared.

She had all that she desired standing beside her – now and forever.

* * *

"I believe they think us quite savage," she whispered to him playfully later that evening. Pleased to wring a smile from him despite the strain she was doing her best to soothe as his arm tightened a fraction around her waist. Clearly keeping well informed of the nature of the whispered conversations carrying on around them as he took a measured sip of his brandy.

"Care to give them something to gossip about?" he returned archly. The level effect of his tone utterly ruined when a boyish smile spread as he looked down at her. Playful and surprisingly young despite his tired eyes.

"You dance?" she chirped, delighted and near blushing as he put a step between them and bowed gracefully.

"Certainly, my dear. Will you join me?"

There was no music playing. Not even a space cleared for it. But when he swung her up in a graceful, yet boldly paced waltz - parting the party-goers at the seams, she couldn't help but laugh. Only half paying attention as Sybil towed Mary to the piano and started playing, signal enough to the rest of the guests as they simply paired off in time. Joining them as the warmth of their bond flared hot and flushing-warm. Losing track of where they were as they immersed themselves in knowing one another in that singular way only a Sentinel and Guide - and yes, perhaps two people who were very much in love - truly could.

* * *

It was only later, absconded in their rooms with their servants finally dismissed, that she turned to him.

"I need-" she started, feeling the desire to be close to him build as she rose from the chaise beside their bed. Dressing gown untied and parting cleanly to reveal her as he took her in hungrily. Defeating the space between them swiftly as his fingers got lost in her soft blonde curls.

"I know," he murmured, eager and solid against her as his hands circled the dip of her hips and the smallness of her waist. Inhaling greedily as he eased her down onto the mattress. "And you will have it, my darling. Everything I can muster for as long as I'm able."

The evening devolved from there into warm sighs and red tones that sung like a chorus of sea-sirens under her skin. Immersing themselves in each other as their lips parted and met. Telling her silent secrets with the firm of his flesh cleaving inside her until she couldn't help but cry out as she peaked.

And yes, call her what you'd like, but she was well pleased for it.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.

 **Reference:**

* _In Medias Res:_ into the middle of things, a narrative term.


End file.
